I throw my purse onto the couch as I open the door to my apartment and walk inside. It’s late and I’m just now getting home at 8:30 pm. I went to the movies by myself in a vague attempt at being both alone and away from the looming scandal, the three surgeons I can’t decide if I like or I’d like to find dirt on since my father says they botched his surgery, and my father’s increasingly meaner messages that make it clear that he will probably never want me near one of his hospitals now.

After staring in yet another sex tape, I’d definitely like to have a whole hell of a lot less exposure. I just want to get away from everything. If I never see another surgeon, it might be too soon. I can’t exactly say that I tripped and fell on their cocks.

They’re enormous…my eyes almost pop out of my head just thinking about it because I can believe how big their cocks are!

Okay, see, this is the kind of relapse in judgment, lose my train of thought stuff that leads exactly to me “falling” on their cocks on more than one occasion.

My ex-boyfriend Chris isn’t to blame for this, but the comparatively dry panty thoughts he inspired? Well, is it any wonder that three times the fun has me distracted?

One wild night was supposed to be, well, one wild night. I didn’t know who they were. They didn’t know who I was.

But kinda hard to push away the bad decision making that followed when there isn’t just video evidence of my choices, but scathing reviews in the city’s paper. Everyone’s email accounts have been full of the sordid details of what was supposed to be the first month of my perfect job.

I undo the zipper to my dress and let it fall to the floor. It feels good to have the cool air conditioned air envelop my skin.

I unclasp my bra and throw it towards the laundry hamper as I walk into my room. My dress is on the floor. Within seconds I’ve shucked off my thong and kicked it across the room. It doesn’t land on the laundry hamper but I don’t really care at that point.

And then there’s a loud banging at my door.

Well, fuck.

I scoop up my dress and think, instead of plying myself back into it, whoever it is can see me in my sweatpants. I mean, they’ve likely seen me in a lot less recently because they get the same news alerts as everyone else.

So, my tits aren’t news…because they’re old news.

I pull on an old college tee and some varsity sweatpants and head for the door.

Speak of the damned devil.

“Chris?” When I see it is him, I basically wanna shut the door right then and there. I so don’t have time for his shit. I barely have time for my own shit. I don’t think I focused on a single second of that movie and I know I ate way too much popcorn. “What are you doing here?” Despite my frustration, I’m proud that I keep my voice calm.

“Well I figure I’m just coming to collect whatever sex tape that you might have hid somewhere of us? Or at least to make one if your pussy can fit me in its busy schedule.” Chris starts to push his way in my door. I move forward and put my arm up to the block the frame. “Okay, I don’t know if you’re drunk, high, or just incredibly fucking stupid, but you need to leave. Now.”

“What, had to go get some monster dicks because you never wanted to fuck when we were together? I didn’t realize I needed to have a baseball bat to get in there, but I’ll smile for the camera all the same.” Chris’s eyes look fucking crazy. I knew he was kind of an angry dude, but this is just mental. What the hell is his problem, showing up like this?

“Wow, just, just get the fuck out.” I start to slam the door and Chris starts to push through. I give up on the door and reach for the big ass walking stick I keep next to my door. I bought it for some hippie hiking shit I never want to do (but the boots I bought for hiking are cute) and I jab it into his chest.

“Really, babe? I’ve had you before, why not go for ‘nuther spin?” Chris is starting to slur his words. Good. He reacts as I expected and grabs for the stick.

While he’s focused on that, I kick hard, aiming right for his dick.

I think maybe the impact was too strong, though, because it enacted some kind of rage that makes him bum rush and knock me to the ground so fast I can’t breathe.

“Bitch!” he grits out, his face pressed close to mine now and I can spell the cheap beer on his breath.

I can’t move my legs or my head the way I’m pinned, but I take my hands, balling them into fists, and go for the kidney shots. I hit as hard as I can, hoping he’ll shift and I’ll get out from under him. I start to focus on nothing but that and his groaning sounds as he reaches for my hands.

And then my fists don’t connect with anything, and I get hyper focused on my breathing and that fluttery feeling in my heart again.

It takes me a second to process what just happened, but I look up and into the eyes of another man that decided to pay me a visit tonight.